Washable Marker
by coeurgryffondor
Summary: Sometimes a man just wants to make his woman happy, and sometimes a woman just wants to brand her man. / Denmark/fem!Finland and Sweden/fem!Finland for ducere and the fanart she drew the other day.


Author's note: 1 is Denmark/fem!Finland and 2 is Sweden/fem!Norway. **ducere** knows what she did; I've linked to her post in my writing Tumblr where I posted the link to this. These are just my favorite Nordic ships and I love the dynamics of their relationships. Iceland is, as SatW best put it, off wanking somewhere.

* * *

**Washable Marker**

1.

She supposes as she lays out on the bed, the warm air coming through the window a welcomed relief, that it was a nice gesture on his part. Christen is still taking himself in in the mirror in an attempt to figure out what his Finnish girlfriend had laughed at. Admittedly it was close enough to SUOMI for her to get the gesture, but Tima simply couldn't keep her face straight at the sight of that word misspelled across his chest in washable marker.

"I'm washing it off!" the Dane shouts, the sound of the shower being turned on following shortly.

"Christen, don't," Tima giggles. "I like it."

As the water cuts off Christen seems to find his most glaring mistake. "Shit! Is the 'm' really upside down?" the kingdom demands as he steps out of the bathroom in only his briefs. "How the hell'd I fuck that–" Looking up he stops talking at the sight of his girlfriend, also in only his briefs.

Her cheeks already burning in anticipation of the words she's about to say, Tima laughs softly. "Would you like something else to fuck?" The twitch of his cock answers before his nod and sigh of,

"Oh God yes."

What Tima loves about Christen, and what perhaps she couldn't have appreciated without having spent centuries with Berwald and Ivan, is how attentive he is to her. The Swedish kingdom was always slow and teasing and took pleasure in those things, but his was a quiet sort of love that Tima always felt weighed too heavily on her as if she wasn't worthy of it. And when it had become too much and she'd left to spend time with the Russian tsarist, Ivan's love had been passionate but dominating, needy but unsatisfying almost.

Christen Densen teases her, pleasures her, is passionate and needy, but it's different as he slowly climbs across their bed. He settles between her legs and the weight there in what she feels is just right, his lips claiming hers, tongue swirling in her mouth as a hand runs down her shoulder to play with a breast. His lips trail down her flushed skin, her hips moving involuntarily. No, Christen's love is different than anything else the Finnish nation has ever experienced, the Dane biting teasingly at a tender breast. Their eyes meet and Tima almost laughs at that look of mischief and pride he has before he closes his eyes and takes her nipple into his mouth. The best word to describe how Christen treats her is lavish, because he spoils her with abandon and for once in her life, Tima Väinämöinen feels worthy of it.

Fingers dip under the band of her briefs as his lips meet hers again. "Rakastan sinua," the Danish kingdom says against her lips, fumbling over the pronunciation but doing his best.

"Jeg elsker dig," Tima whispers back before kissing him.

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2.

She finishes writing the word NORGE with great flourish in washable marker across his chest, sitting back on Berwald's lap and enjoying the way it looks. "Satisfied?" the Swede asks, raising an eyebrow. He's lounging comfortably on the bed in his tight briefs that Kristina had bought him last week in Paris after a long day of spending his money.

"Umm," she purrs, running her hands up and down is sculpted torso. She loves to scratch her nails into his abs, the way he shifts his hips and rubs against her center, the way her long hair feels over her bare back as she lets her head fall back. "I'll be satisfied when I get it tattooed permanently on you for all to see."

"Just like that?" the Swede challenges, running his hands over her shoulders and down to cup her breasts, playing with them as his thumbs flick at her nipples.

"In the colors of my flag," the female kingdom gasps, leaning forward to lay over him. "And then everyone will know just who you belong to, my sweet, sweet Norwegian territory."

Berwald lays back, his hands on his fiancée's arms, as Kristina's mouth works on making a red mark on the pale neck. Her lips move further down, licking at a pink nipple. Her blonde hair falls over her shoulders, the Swede pushing some of it back as he strokes her skin lovingly. "Jeg elsker deg," he whispers in her Norwegian language, the words beautiful on his lips.

"Fuck yeah you do," and Kristina grips his hair tight as she crushes her lips to his.


End file.
